


My Charade Is The Event Of The Season

by zabira



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Group Sex, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabira/pseuds/zabira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If I had a kink bingo card, this would fill many, many squares.  A direct response to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9u4KQYD3Dk">these</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qRT0I97owA">shenanigans</a> and takes place immediately <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNztXr9ceSI">following</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Charade Is The Event Of The Season

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : No disrespect intended to any of the persons depicted herein. This is purely fictional, and not in any way intended as an accurate representation of reality.
> 
>  **Warnings** : Do we warn for gangbangs in this fandom? Okay, well, gangbang. Also, unprotected sex, an implied D/s relationship, sensation play (scratching/biting) without negotiation or safeword, and with what could be construed as slightly dubious consent. If you want more details about any of that, please email or PM me.

They’re grinning as they leave the stage, and Dallon teases Brendon about how heavy he is, but he doesn't let him down until the dressing-room door closes behind them. Brendon isn't sure which of them had managed it, but they'd somehow shed Zack and the exhilarated, laughing techs who'd followed them offstage. It's just the four of them, high as kites, nearly steaming with sweat and jittery with adrenaline. Dallon carries him to the ratty couch that is shoved in the far corner of the room, and drops him down onto it, not at all carefully. Brendon's head thumps against the armrest and his limbs splay out from the impact, but he doesn't protest. His blood is still humming from the show and from his own daring. He watches as the rest of them crowd around him. No one makes any move to get water, call first shower or get out of whatever show clothes they’re still wearing, but they also don't make any other move toward him.

He's always thrumming with energy when he gets offstage, almost shaking with excess feeling, but this is something different. They've got to feel it. It's good theater when he clings to them onstage, and they pretend it's for the show, because that's what he wants them to do. Today, he wishes they would just follow it all the way to the end, push him down, rough him up, just take him. His whole body is buzzing with the desire to be touched, but he doesn't have the first clue how to ask for it.

It takes Spencer, as usual, to break the impasse.

"Brendon?"

Spencer's voice is quiet; low and intense, but not uncertain. Spencer knows what Brendon's thinking, he's just trying to communicate it to the rest of them.

Brendon squirms his shoulders against the couch anxiously, twisting his body, wanting to be held down. Spencer's eyes flare, but he just repeats his question, "Brendon, is it okay?"

"Yes, yes, please, yes, come on," is all Brendon can come up with. He flails his hand out and grabs at Ian's wrist, just because he's the closest. "Please?"

Ian stares down at him. Brendon knows how he must look, half-naked and writhing like a cat on a green room couch. He's as good as begging for them. He can't even feel ashamed about it.

Ian's eyes widen comically as he puts it together, "Wait, what?" he says, "Are you serious?" He looks to Spencer, clearly half expecting a joke, but Spencer’s eyes are solemn and a little bit challenging; a look they've all seen before. Ian recognizes it, and Brendon can see him working out what it means.

He grips Ian's wrist a little bit more firmly and repeats, "Yes, Ian, yes. Please?"

Ian laughs, "Oh, man. Okay, yes." He looks back down at Brendon, his eyes lighting up finally, sweeping over Brendon's body like he's something delicious Ian didn't think he was ever going to get to try. "Yes."

After that, Ian doesn't hesitate. He glances once more at Spencer, and then clambers down to kneel over Brendon on the narrow couch. His knees bracket Brendon's hips, and he pulls his arm free to curl both hands over Brendon's shoulders. He leans down, but he doesn't kiss Brendon, instead bending his head to scrape his stubbled chin down Brendon's neck, into the curve of his shoulder.

The slight burn and scratch of it feels like an electric shock to Brendon's nerves, lighting up parts of his body that Ian isn't even touching. Brendon can't keep still, the tickle of it making him feel even more restless, even more needy than he already was, and Ian has to tighten his knees around Brendon's hips. He pulls back and Brendon whines, "No, no, no, please." Ian's small, but his arms are strong, and he emphasizes that fact by shoving Brendon into the couch a little, making him be still.

Then Ian looks up to Dallon, who mutters, "I can't believe this is happening."

"You going to be okay?" Ian asks, and Brendon wants the answer too. It's one thing to play pretend, but Dallon is Dallon. They count on him, and he has a family. They can't mess with that.

Dallon laughs, nodding his head, "I didn't believe her when she told me this would happen." He doesn't say anything else, but kneels down, leans over and places his lips gently over Brendon's. Ian's grip is still hard on his shoulders, so Brendon can't crane up to deepen the kiss as much as he wants, but it hardly matters. It's slow and innocent for a few seconds, and then Dallon makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat and opens his mouth to tangle his tongue with Brendon's. He reaches up to thread his fingers into Brendon's sweat-damp hair, and presses their mouths together so hard it almost hurts.

 _Perfect,_ Brendon thinks, struggling to keep up. _Perfect, perfect, more._ His hands are still free, and he reaches down to lay them over Ian's thighs, digging his fingertips in a little, like a cat begging to be stroked. Ian responds by tightening his hands on Brendon's shoulders and sitting down more firmly on Brendon's lap, grinding his ass over Brendon's cock. Brendon gasps into Dallon's mouth, grips Ian's thighs even harder and pushes up desperately into the pressure. God, he's so on edge, so fast, already worked up from the show, and overwhelmed at having them all focused on him.

As if in answer to that thought, he feels Spencer's fingers close around his ankle. It's like completing a circuit. They're all with him, hands tight on him, they won't let him go. His whole body shivers, and then he settles under Ian, accepting Dallon's kiss and waiting to see what happens next.

He knows Spencer can feel and see everything that's happening to him, can probably read the inside of his head, and he feels Spencer's fingers squeeze his ankle, a tiny reward for his capitulation.

"What do you want?" Dallon pulls away from Brendon's mouth so that he can answer, and they both look up to see Spencer perched on the other arm of the couch. He's watching them avidly, eyes glittering and satisfied. Spencer loves to watch. Brendon grins at him, and he quirks one eyebrow in acknowledgment. "Bren, we'll give you what you need, but you have to say."

Brendon closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens them to meet Spencer's again. He thinks maybe Spencer knows what he’s going to say, but he’s waiting for Brendon. Ian and Dallon both still to listen, but Brendon can't look at them yet.

"Fuck, you should fuck me," Brendon stutters out, his hips twitching under Ian at the thought of it.

But. "Me, you want me to fuck you?" Spencer prompts him.

Brendon can feel his cheeks heating, but Spencer holds his eyes and won't let him hide, "N-no, all, all of you." He shifts his focus back to Ian and Dallon, "Is that okay?"

Ian and Dallon are looking at each other like they can't quite believe what's happening. Ian laughs quietly, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it, and Brendon is abruptly reminded that he's the youngest of them, not that he hasn't seen his fair share of wild times over the years. After a few seconds' hesitation, and what looks like a silent conversation with Dallon, Ian leans a little further into Brendon's face to say, "Way more than okay," and then he grinds down rough and quick in Brendon's lap, making him gasp. He turns his head to see Dallon nodding mock-solemnly. Dallon's breath is speeding up, and he leans down to go back to kissing Brendon, but before he can, Brendon feels Spencer squeezing at his ankle again.

"They can go first, but you're not going to come yet, right, Brendon? Can you do that, wait for me?"

The words race through Brendon, making him feel out of breath and helpless. His body is on fire with all this hesitation, and he feels filled up with want, even though they’re just getting started. He hates to disappoint Spencer, but he's so keyed up from the show that he can already tell he's not going to last very long. It feels as if one more shove of Ian's hips might send him over the edge.

He's trying not to beg, but he knows his eyes are doing it for him, because Spencer replies as if he's said all this out loud, "Or we could just take the edge off now, if that's what you want." He looks scheming and not indulgent, which is a terrible, terrible sign, but Brendon's so eager, he doesn't even care what Spencer has planned for him later.

Brendon nods and Spencer just laughs. "Maybe Dallon can help you with that," he says, reaching down to untie Brendon's shoes. When he's got them off, he nudges Ian up and off Brendon's lap, and the two of them get to work removing what little is left of his clothing. Brendon tries to help them as they untangle his pants from his feet and slip off the black briefs he's now shown to the whole world, but he's a little distracted with wondering how Dallon will respond to Spencer's suggestion. Neither Ian nor Dallon seem all that surprised that Spencer's in charge, but then, they do live on a bus together. Still, "unsurprised" and "willing to take direction" are two different things, and Brendon still has no idea how much experience Dallon really has with all this. He desperately wants something to happen, soon, but he doesn't think he's up to coaxing Dallon into anything.

He looks over and Dallon is grinning. It's that particular smile he has on stage, right before he's about to do something truly outrageous. It's so familiar, and Brendon makes the mistake of relaxing at the sight of it, when he should know to be very, very cautious. Which is why he's unprepared when Dallon leans in and bites at Brendon's nipple, hard. Brendon's whole body jolts; he's not even sure if it feels amazing or horrible, but Dallon doesn't give him any time to consider the question. Instead, he sits up, licks his palm, and reaches down with no fanfare to wrap his hand around Brendon's cock. Brendon arches up into the touch, and Dallon bends down and sets his teeth around Brendon's nipple again.

Brendon's nerves are going haywire, and he already knows this isn't going to take long. Dallon bites just the tiniest bit harder, and starts up stroking Brendon, tight and fast and perfect. The two sensations meet somewhere in the middle of Brendon's chest, a sharp, startled feeling, making it hard for him to breathe.

His eyes are closed, and he's lost track of everyone else in the room, so he jolts when he feels someone nudging his legs apart to settle between them. Dallon's hand doesn't falter, but he loosens his teeth and sits back up. Brendon opens his eyes to see Ian, naked and smiling down at him, with Spencer back on his perch, watching over them.

"Spence, Spencer, it's, I can't-" Brendon pants, writhing under Dallon's hands.

"That's the idea, Bren. Come on, the sooner you come, the sooner you get what you asked for."

Dallon's hand tightens and speeds up at that. He's being just a little rough with Brendon, as if he knows exactly how he likes it. It feels so good, and Brendon is so close. Instead of holding back, he tightens up his whole body, straining for his orgasm, and lets it just rip through him in shaking, glorious waves. He can distantly hear the noise he’s making, and knows he’s being louder than he should be, but he doesn't have the attention left to care. Dallon strokes him through it, until Brendon can't stand to be touched any longer and pushes him away.

Spencer gives him a minute to catch his breath before saying, "You okay?"

"Mmmm."

Ian runs his hands over Brendon's shoulders and down his chest, "You ready for my turn now?" he says.

"Mmmm, yeah," Brendon sighs. He is so ready, just as long as they don't expect him to help at all.

Spencer's watching him carefully, and he asks, "You need fingers?" Brendon shakes his head. He doesn't want to wait, just wants someone inside him, right now. Please?

He closes his eyes again and hitches up his hips, bringing his knees to his chest so that Ian can settle himself between them. The couch is a terrible place for this, but they're both small and they slot together like puzzle pieces. Brendon can hear the crinkle of a condom packet, and the snick of the cap of a bottle of lube. Spencer probably had them in his bag. Or his camera case. Or his pocket. He takes such good care of everyone.

Brendon's drifting in his own haze of satisfied contentment, and he hums agreement when he feels Ian gathering him in with one arm, and using the other hand to brush his lube-slick cock over the pucker of Brendon's ass. Ian teases them both for a few seconds, and then presses harder, twisting his hips to push himself into Brendon in slow, careful increments. Brendon is rag-doll limp, no tension anywhere, and Ian slides in smooth and easy. There's that delicious ache that Brendon loves, the stretch as his body adjusts, but he feels warm and full and surrounded. He hums again, and squeezes his legs around Ian, letting him know without words that everything is so good.

Ian finally makes a sound at that, a tiny gasp, and immediately begins to move, setting up a rhythm that’s gentle but insistent. Brendon's not anywhere near to coming again, but Ian's cock is hitting every good spot inside him, the slick slide lighting up his nerves, even though there's no urgency to it.

Dallon is back to kneeling by his head, not kissing, but gently touching his face, brushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead. Everyone is watching him now, but he feels too blissed out to care, tired and spent and like he could just lie here forever, letting them take him. He's riding Ian's thrusts like they’re waves in the ocean and he's just floating over them.

He is murmuring, eyes closed, "Yes, yes, it's good, Ian, it's good, yes, yes." He doesn't have the coordination for grabbing at Ian, but his hands are petting down Ian's arms, almost compulsively stroking him in rhythm with the fucking.

He can tell that Ian is keeping himself on a leash, trying to follow Brendon's mood. His arms are starting to shake, and on each push in Brendon can feel the slightest jerk in Ian's hips, like he'd love to just let go, like the effort it takes to keep everything smooth and slow is getting progressively more difficult. Brendon looks over Ian's shoulder to see that Spencer is actually rolling his eyes. "Just fuck my boyfriend, Ian," he says, "There's time to be a gentleman later."

Brendon arches up a little more, trying to get leverage in the confined space of the couch, and pulls his knees closer to his chest so he can wrap his legs around Ian's waist. "Yeah," he says, "Come on, Ian. It's good, I want you to."

He wraps his arms around Ian as well, clinging and encouraging him, wriggling as close as he can. So he can feel it all over his body the moment Ian lets himself loose. It's like a car turning over gears. The next little jerk of his hips, he doesn't stop the motion, lets his whole body go, and slams into Brendon like he so clearly has been dying to do. Brendon gasps, and curls his legs up higher. The change in angle has Ian's cock hitting his prostate on every thrust, and Brendon isn't quite ready for the jolt of sharp sensation that gives him. It's somewhere in that sweet spot between pleasure and overload, and he can't stop the shout it forces out of his throat.

Ian's rhythm is all shot to hell now. He's not trying to get Brendon off, just chasing his own orgasm, but every jerk of his hips punches that shout out of Brendon. He's being so loud. They're never going to hear the end of this, but he can't help himself. After his orgasm, this is just way too much sensation. It almost hurts now, and it's perfect.

Ian's head is down, his puff of hair almost brushing Brendon's chest, and he's wrapped his hands around Brendon's shoulders for leverage, just fighting to get closer, though that's basically impossible at this point. Brendon reaches up and tugs on his curls, changing his shouts to "Ian."

"Ian, Ian, Ian, Ian, come on." he chants.

"Brendon," Ian grits out. He raises his head to meet Brendon's eyes. There's amusement and exasperation on his face, and he still seems a bit stunned that this is happening, after all the years they've known each other, but mostly he just looks really, really close to coming. His eyebrows are drawn in, his mouth is open for panting breaths, and Brendon can feel him tightening up his whole body like he's trying to ride the crest of the wave for just a little bit longer.

Dallon has been running his hands over both of them, half-curiously and half-teasingly, this whole time. Mostly, it's just a smooth glide of skin, running around and down Brendon's body, over to Ian's and back again, but every once in a while, Brendon will startle to a sharp pinch or scratch from him.

He has clearly figured out it's his turn next and has decided he's going to hurry it along a little. He reaches his hand behind Ian and between his legs. Brendon can't see what he's doing, but whatever it is has Ian stilling and then speeding up again, thrusting jerkily as he loses what little control he had left.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit," Ian says.

Brendon watches Dallon's arm flex and twist, muscles bunching, and then Ian is doing his own shouting. His eyes go wide, then slam shut and he’s shaking and gasping, falling apart in Brendon's arms.

Brendon does what he can to try and make it good for him, keeping his hips moving and murmuring encouraging nonsense in Ian's ear until Ian finally stills and slumps down on top of Brendon, tangling them up even further. Dallon takes his hand from wherever it was, and runs it soothingly up and down Ian's spine. He smiles when Brendon cranes down to kiss the top of Ian's head.

"My turn," Dallon says.

Ian lifts his head. He's still breathing hard and a little out of it, but he laughs, "What, I don't even get to enjoy the afterglow?"

"You can enjoy anything you want, Crawford. Just do it over there for a little bit," Dallon says.

Ian turns back to Brendon, "You okay?"

"Way better than that," Brendon says. He realizes all of a sudden that they haven't even kissed yet. That seems wrong, so he tugs Ian's head close and plants a kiss on his lips. It's quick and innocent and sort of ridiculous after everything they've just done, but Ian smiles, and then pulls away from Brendon.

As soon as Ian pulls out, Brendon tips from feeling overwhelmed and satisfied to empty and hungry and needing to be touched. He uncurls himself gingerly and shivers in the air-conditioned room. Spencer, who is still perched on the end of the couch, reaches out and grabs his foot as soon as it gets within reach. He rubs gently at the arch of it, and they share a quick, private smile.

Ian scoots back on the couch so that Dallon can take his place. Brendon wishes they had a bed here, wishes they could all curl up beside him. Maybe they could do this in a bed, later, if there is a later.

Spencer will curl up with him later, no matter what.

But right now, there's Dallon. Who has that _look_ on his face. Dallon's an agreeable guy, a good friend. He mostly follows Brendon's lead, and he's been more than patient with all the pawing and shenanigans on stage, so sometimes Brendon forgets that he's secretly an evil mastermind. The look on his face is one that Brendon's seen most often just before he becomes the victim of a particularly creative prank, and in this context, it's making him a little nervous and a lot excited. He honestly can't imagine what Dallon is going to come up with, and the uncertainty is making his heart race and something start to flutter and flip in his stomach.

"Come on," Dallon says, "Up, up." He urges Brendon off the couch and onto his feet.

Dallon's still in all his clothes, so when he pulls Brendon into his arms, they’re rough against his bare, over-sensitized skin. He doesn't kiss Brendon, but pulls him in, laying Brendon's head on his shoulder and wrapping both arms around him. It should be comforting, but Brendon is buzzing with anticipation and a tiny, delicious bit of fear. He turns his head and licks at the salt of Dallon's neck, and Dallon unwinds his arms, starts running his hands up and down Brendon's body. He's not gentle about it, not stroking him, but pressing in with his fingers, gripping hard. His hands explore all of Brendon's curves and angles, never lighting on one place for very long, and Brendon's body is starting to wake up, his attention focused entirely on Dallon's callused fingers. He murmurs against Dallon's neck and squirms to press in closer, relishing the slight scratch of Dallon's clothes, the flat planes of his body. On stage, they just glance off one another, teasing and then gone. This feels good.

Dallon's touches are getting more deliberate, like he's trying to find all of Brendon's hot spots. He reaches down to run his fingers around the bottom of Brendon's ass, tucking them briefly between Brendon's lube-sticky thighs to brush at his perineum. He doesn't linger there, but runs his hands up the curve of Brendon's ass, stopping to press his thumbs into the sensitive skin over Brendon's hipbone. Then he brushes the tips of his fingers up Brendon's side, so lightly that he's barely touching. It doesn't tickle, but it raises goose-bumps all over Brendon's body. He can feel the hair on his scalp prickling. Then Dallon brings both hands up and uses the pads of his fingers to scratch gently between Brendon's shoulder-blades. It's so good; a warm, delicious feeling that spreads outward from Dallon's fingers and lights in every place he's just touched. It's like magic. Brendon shivers.

Dallon reaches up with one hand and tangles it in Brendon's hair, pulling at it until Brendon lifts his head. Dallon grins at him, then leans to kiss him. With his other hand, he reaches down and starts to stroke Brendon's cock, which is beginning to take an interest in the proceedings again. He's still sensitive from his orgasm, and Dallon is stroking him dry and a little rough. It's on that edge of too much, but he can feel where it's going to be just right in a minute. He sighs against Dallon's mouth.

After a few moments, Dallon pulls back to watch his face, run his eyes down Brendon's body. "Hm, I think you're there now, aren't you?" he says.

He doesn't wait for any kind of answer, just turns Brendon around and coaxes him to prop his knee on the arm of the couch, drawing his hands to brace against the back. Brendon feels exposed, but not uncomfortable, and when Dallon leans back in and blankets him with his long body, he can see what works about the position. Dallon's hands run down his arms to cover his wrists for a moment, and his clothes rasp deliciously all the way down Brendon's body.

He steps away for a moment, and Brendon spares some attention for Ian and Spencer. Spencer still hasn't moved from his perch on the other arm of the couch, and Ian has curled himself at Spencer's feet. Spencer has his hand on Ian's neck, gently holding him. They're both watching Brendon intently, and when he looks over, Spencer's eyes crinkle the way they do when he is very pleased with Brendon.

Brendon sighs again and shakes his whole body out, settling into what's happening to him. He can hear Dallon unbuckling his belt, and unzipping his pants. He doesn't take off any more of his clothes. Brendon can hear his shoes scuffing against the floor as he shifts. He can also hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the click of the cap of a bottle of lube.

Dallon's left hand grips Brendon's hip, holding him still, and Brendon feels cool, slick fingers brush gently over the pucker of his ass. He's so sensitive there, warm and a little raw from Ian fucking him, and the sensation startles a gasp from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ian shifting to see better. He tries to hide his face in his arm, but Dallon isn't having any of it.

"Brendon,” he laughs, “I know you like it when we watch you. Don't hide." His clean hand leaves Brendon's hip and pulls gently on his hair, forcing him to look back over to where Ian and Spencer are watching them. As soon as Brendon's head turns, Dallon presses more firmly, slips one finger inside. Brendon's eyes close and he gasps again. He's not too distracted to hear an answering noise from the end of the couch, a sharp breath that he has no trouble identifying as Spencer's.

He looks over and Spencer's eyes are dark, and focused only on him. There's color in his cheeks now, and Brendon can see that his breathing has sped up. He looks just like he does when they're alone together, and Brendon can feel his eyes like a touch.

Dallon's fingers feel so good, pressing inside of him, and Spencer is so intent on watching it happen to him, drinking in the responses he can't help making. Brendon’s chest feels tight with a confusion of feeling. He wants Dallon to fuck him, he wants to fall on Spencer and shut out the whole world, he wants them to watch him forever. He feels caught by the contradiction of his own desires, as if he's tied in this moment and can't escape. It just ratchets up the intensity, and the next time Dallon twists his fingers, he whimpers, almost--but not quite--wanting the pleasure to stop.

Dallon doesn't stop, but he does pull his fingers out, trading them for his cock. He leans over Brendon, blanketing him, and pushes forward, opening him up by increments. Brendon moans softly and pushes back into him, watching Spencer's eyes flare. Dallon's moving so slowly, and it doesn't help. Brendon still feels crazy, like he wants everything at once, and can't figure out how to get it. Instead he just hangs on to the back of the sofa, and lets Dallon set the pace.

When Dallon is finally fully seated in him, filling him up, he leans down and bites at Brendon's neck, his breath washing over Brendon's skin as his teeth clamp down on the sensitive skin. Brendon shivers, pushing into the sting of Dallon's teeth. Dallon is really pinching at him and it _hurts_. Yes, that's it. The sharpness radiates out from Dallon's bite. It's perfect. It focuses all the feelings in his body, gives them a place to go somehow. He moves his hand from the back of the couch to press it to Dallon's head, holding him there, encouraging him. "Yes," he says, "yes."

Dallon bites harder for just a second, and they hang there in that moment, until he pulls his mouth away. Brendon whimpers and Dallon pulls him back, fucking into him once before lifting his hands and placing the fingertips of both hands just under Brendon's collarbones. He presses in with his nails, and then seems to hesitate, gentling his fingers and freezing up a little.

Brendon opens his mouth to urge him on, but Spencer beats him to it, says "Do it."

"What?"

"Whatever you were just thinking, do it. Trust me," Spencer says.

Brendon can't see Dallon's face, but he must believe Spencer. He curls his hands into claws and scratches all the way down Brendon's chest, bright lines of fire from his collarbone to his belly. Brendon twists, not sure which sensation he wants to push into more, and works himself back onto Dallon's cock. They both gasp.

Brendon's totally overwhelmed. It feels so good, the pain is feeding that voice inside him that's saying "more, more, more," but he's weirdly embarrassed for everyone to see this, even after everything. No one's ever hurt him like that but Spencer.

"Spence?"

Spencer is so quick, tumbles over Ian to kneel next to Brendon, putting a hand to Brendon's cheek, and leaning in. "You're okay, Bren. We're okay."

Brendon whimpers, "But it's, I'm-" He doesn't know how to articulate the way it strips away his armor, the way it makes him feel exposed to them, even more than anything else that's happened.

He's so grateful Spencer doesn't need him to say anything, just strokes at his face, and says, "I know, but doesn't it feel good?"

"Yeah, but-"

Spencer looks up at Dallon, who has stilled completely. Brendon can't see his face, but Spencer gives him a hard look and says, "Keep going. He's good, Dallon, keep going."

Brendon takes a deep breath when Dallon lifts his hands. He keeps his eyes on Spencer, who is watching him carefully as always. There's a long pause where nobody moves, and then Dallon brings his hands back to Brendon, and scrapes all the way down his chest, digging his nails in sharply. Brendon cries out and does exactly what Dallon wants him to do, which is push backward. There's nowhere to go. He's caught between the burn of Dallon's fingers and the press of Dallon's cock.

They set up a rhythm like that, Dallon using his blunt nails as leverage so he can fuck Brendon harder. He doesn't scrape over the same spots, and sometimes he just digs in and _pulls_. Brendon's entire chest is on fire, and every pass over it burns brighter and hotter. He's getting lost in it, kind of doesn't know where he is, can't even focus on the steady, sure way Dallon is fucking him through it all. He can vaguely hear the guttural noises that are driven out of him every time Dallon so much as touches him, but he can't control what’s coming out of his mouth.

He feels Spencer's gentle hand on his face again, and looks up to meet his eyes. He can see Ian, over Spencer's shoulder, absolutely transfixed by what’s happening, and his face heats.

Spencer brushes his sweaty hair out of his eyes, "You with us, B?" His voice is calm, but he sounds breathless.

Brendon nods, "It's just-"

"I know, Bren. We can see how much it is. You think we can't see you?"

Spencer kisses Brendon softly, as Dallon digs into his skin again. He gasps against Spencer's lips.

Spencer pulls back, holds his eyes, "You're beautiful, the way you take it. We love watching him do this to you, love seeing how much you want it." He leans in close, whispers just for Brendon, "I love you so much, you know that."

Dallon has slowed down again, listening. He's breathing hard, gasping nearly as much as Brendon, but he controls his hands, brushing them whisper-light over the raw places on Brendon's skin. "Too much?" he says, "Should I stop?"

It's not clear who he's talking to, and Spencer keeps his eyes glued to Brendon when he says, "He can take it. Keep going."

Dallon crosses his arms over Brendon's chest to take Brendon's nipples between the nails of each thumb and forefinger. He tightens his fingers slow, slow, slowly, so that the sting of it dawns on Brendon gradually. When Brendon starts to squirm away from the sensation, Dallon uses the leverage of his arms to press Brendon back onto his cock, setting up a new rhythm for them both.

Brendon whimpers, and cranes to catch Spencer's lips with his again. He's nearly frantic with it, kissing hungrily, but Spencer slows him down, gentles the kiss, sweeping his tongue over Brendon's lips and inside, keeping everything languid and soft. He swallows the noises Brendon makes, and keeps him steady when Dallon starts to speed up.

When it seems like Dallon is getting close to coming, Spencer pulls away from the kiss, licks the tips of his first two fingers and reaches down to press them over the head of Brendon's cock. He holds them there, letting the rhythm of Dallon's movements control what Brendon feels.

Brendon starts making high, helpless noises, "Ah, ah, ah," and struggles to pull against Dallon's hands, press himself up toward Spencer's fingers.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Brendon nods as best he can, distracted by competing sensations.

"But you're not going to come yet, right, Brendon? You'll wait for me?"

Brendon can barely spare the attention to respond. "Yes, yes," he says, knowing from past experience that if he agrees with Spencer, good things will happen.

Dallon's not hurting him anymore, though his whole chest is on fire. He's gripping at Brendon's hips, and every jarring thrust presses pleasure out to all the places Brendon is most sensitive. Spencer's fingers coax that flame higher, and he's getting lost in it again.

Spencer leans in to whisper in his ear, "He's so close, Bren, can you feel it? You're making him feel so good right now, wish you could see his face." Brendon nods, yes, he'd like that, but he doesn't have the breath for saying so. Spencer doesn't stop for his answer. "He's going to come soon, and then it will be my turn. I could watch you forever, but it'll be mine, can't wait to have my hands on you, can't wait, you're so good right now, wish you could see it, Brendon." Spencer's voice is going hoarse, and he's out of breath, sounds like he's been running. There's a fine tremor under the seemingly steady words.

Brendon gathers himself enough to look into Spencer's eyes again, and oh. Oh. Spencer is _into_ this. No one's touched him, but he's on edge just from watching Brendon, telling him what's happening. Brendon thought this was for him, but looking at Spencer's face, he's not so sure. Brendon's whole body flushes, heat racing up his cheeks, and his fingers tingle and clench, wanting to grab at Spencer when he looks like that. The next time Dallon thrusts in, Brendon's moan comes out as, "Spencer." And then it's like he can't stop. He spares a moment to be sorry that when Dallon is making him feel so good, he can't yell out _his_ name, but he doesn't feel like he's in control of it. "Spencer, Spence, Spencer."

Something about what he's doing is getting to Dallon. He's wrapped both arms around Brendon, pulling them as close as they can get in this position. He's got his face buried in Brendon's neck, and he's barely keeping any kind of rhythm anymore. Over the sound of his own voice, Brendon can hear Dallon shakily mutter, "Jesus, you guys," like watching this thing they always keep so private is working him up just as fast as it's getting to them.

"Jesus," Dallon's arms tighten impossibly, and Brendon can feel him still against his back, shaking through his orgasm. Brendon's eyes are still locked to Spencer's, can't look away, but he peels one hand off the back of the couch, and wraps his arm around Dallon's, holding them together, encouraging him as much as he can with his body.

Finally, Dallon slumps down onto him, gasping against his neck. His cock is still inside Brendon, softening slowly, and Brendon whines a little. Dallon's satisfied exhaustion is radiating through his whole body, but Brendon is still wound up tighter than a corkscrew.

Dallon pulls out and away from him, but doesn't let him go immediately. He turns Brendon around, stands him on his feet, and pulls him in for one more kiss. Brendon hums into his mouth, trying to express gratitude and pleasure when he's so keyed up, he can't even process it. Dallon pulls away, grins at him, and pushes him gently to Spencer.

Brendon tumbles into Spencer's arms, knocking him onto his back. He wraps himself around Spencer like a clinging vine, and kisses him, messily, desperately. In his head, he's still chanting, "Spencer, Spencer," but he can't pull his mouth away long enough to say anything.

Spencer is still wearing his show clothes, and his pants scrape against Brendon's hard dick. The sensation is an echo of the scratches that Dallon gave him, which are still raw on his skin, and instead of pulling away, he presses anxiously closer. He can feel himself trembling, but Spencer wraps strong arms around him, and folds him in as close as he can. They don't stop kissing until Brendon calms a little.

Spencer isn't calm. As soon as Brendon's shaking eases a little and his kisses aren't so frantic, he shoves Brendon up and starts tearing at his own shirt buttons, muttering, "Brendon, Brendon, you were amazing. I can't- You have to- We-"

Brendon scoots back, leaving Spencer to wrestle with his shirt, and concentrating on unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Spencer's hunger and impatience are pouring off him in waves, and Brendon doesn't even bother taking those pants off all the way, just shoves them down Spencer's thighs, taking his briefs with them. When Spencer's cock springs free, he curls down to lick the head of it, which is already sticky and salty with pre-come. Spencer groans, low and deep, and grabs Brendon by the arms to haul him back up so they're pressed chest to chest again.

"Brendon," he says. "Please, Brendon." His hips are pressing up helplessly, shoving his cock against Brendon's and Brendon doesn't hesitate. He shifts his hips, reaches back to line them up and sinks down onto Spencer, nothing at all between them. He's still slick from before, maybe not as much as he should be, but the burn of it feels so good. Spencer seems out of his mind with it already. He curls his hands over Brendon's shoulders, and uses the leverage to just _shove_ up into him. He's talking, low and insistent, each phrase punctuated with the rhythm of his hips, like a drumbeat. He barely seems aware of what he's saying.

"So good, you were so good, and they- And your face, Jesus Christ," Spencer throws his head back, like it's making him crazy even thinking about it, and he's still just shoving into Brendon, no finesse at all. Brendon's never seen him this out of control. This isn't going to take long.

And it's like there's an alchemical process whereby Spencer is pushing his desperation right into Brendon. He's not even trying to get Brendon off, is completely lost in his own pleasure, which is so unlike him that it's driving Brendon even crazier. He can already feel his own orgasm barreling down on him like a freight train. He's a little scared of it, like it's going to crush him with its intensity, and he struggles to get some of his control back, slow it down, hold it off for just one more minute.

But Spencer, not as lost as he seems, won't let him. He lets go of Brendon's hip with one hand, so that he can wrap it around the back of Brendon's neck, pressing their foreheads together. His voice is shaking, but the command is still in it, "You should touch yourself, you should come," he says, "You're so close. Come on, Bren, we want to see you. I'm waiting for you."

Brendon doesn't want to move from where he's curled down against Spencer, can't stand to be any further away, so he has to wriggle his arm between them to do what Spencer says. It doesn't really matter what happens at this point, he's going to come, but he reaches down and doesn't wrap his hand around himself, only presses his fingers like Spencer was doing earlier, letting Spencer's restless motion do the stroking for him. The wave of feeling that gives him almost hurts, it's so sharp, and he grits his teeth against the sound his throat wants to make.

Spencer doesn't let him hold back. He's got both hands back on Brendon's hips and is pressing them together insistently, forcing gasped breaths out of Brendon. He can't seem to stop talking, "You're so gorgeous, you were on fire, everyone wanted to be here, right where I am, but you're ours, all ours, come on, Brendon." He's pressing in to the rhythm of his words, "Come on, Bren, come on, come on, come on."

Ian and Dallon, who have been hanging back, letting Spencer and Brendon have their moment, scoot closer and lay their hands on Brendon's back, stroking down his spine and pressing him into Spencer. They're all holding him, Spencer's arms tight around him, and he buries his face in Spencer's neck and just lets it happen. It crashes over him. His body is shaking so hard, Spencer has to grip him even tighter, and he opens his mouth on one long, loud "ah" sound, can't seem to stop himself from shouting. He can feel himself clenching down on Spencer's cock as his body convulses, and Spencer's head is tossing back and forth next to his, but he can barely process anything that's happening outside his own head. There are so many hands on him, and Spencer's close and he's just lost in it for what feels like minutes.

When his head finally clears enough to check back into reality, he raises himself up to see that Spencer's eyes are clenched shut and he's panting, holding still because he knows sometimes Brendon's too sensitive after he comes. Not tonight, though. He's gone all the way the other side of too much to a place where every single touch feels like the best thing ever. He's already come, but he can't seem to come _down_. He's waiting for Spencer.

Spencer's hands are clutching at his hips, grasping and releasing. He doesn't even seem aware he's doing it, and the next time Spencer's fingers pinch his skin, Brendon takes it as direction, presses himself further down on Spencer's cock. Spencer's eyes fly open. "Oh," he says, and when Brendon starts up a rhythm, Spencer responds to every motion with a helpless gasp. Brendon reaches above his head, braces his hand against the arm of the couch and uses that leverage to fuck down hard onto Spencer, pushing again and again, not caring about finesse or how it looks, or the way that Spencer's hands are gripping so tight they'll probably leave bruises. All he cares about is the gone-away look in Spencer's face, and the crazy noises he's making. He's held off for so long, and Brendon wants to see him let go finally.

Brendon can feel the moment he does. He tosses his head back again, and his whole body goes rigid, before he starts shivering apart in Brendon's arms. It's gorgeous, and Brendon bends down to whisper in Spencer's ear, "Yes, yes, Spence, I can feel you, it's so good, yes." He keeps the rhythm of his hips going as best he can, until Spencer finally holds him still.

Brendon lifts his head, and Spencer is drowsy-eyed and smiling at him. He can't stop himself from leaning down, and they trade clumsy, sweet kisses for a minute. His whole body feels heavy and sated, and Spencer is completely relaxed beneath him, no tension anywhere. His cock slips out of Brendon while they kiss, but they don't move apart in any other way.

Ian and Dallon are still kneeling on the floor, watching them, their hands petting at Brendon. It just feels warm and safe now, no heat to it, and Brendon wishes they could just stay like this, but he's waking up to the fact that they're still at the venue and in a not-at-all private place.

He lifts his head to say, "Spence, what-?" but he doesn't even get the thought out before he hears Zack's distinctive knock on the green room door.

"Come on, you guys, I'm serious! You have ten minutes to be decent, dressed and ready to go to the hotel." He doesn't sound mad, just very, very amused. He's clearly chosen this moment because they've gone quiet, which means he's heard way more than Brendon really wants to think about.

Brendon turns back to Spencer, "Dude, really? What did you promise him this time?"

Spencer grins. "Does it matter? Got you what we wanted, didn't it?"

It's Dallon who answers, "Hell, yes, it did." And Brendon cranes around to see his face. He's smiling too, fond and amused, and Brendon is so glad for them all right now. That was a crazy thing they just did, and he'll be thinking about it for a long time, but it doesn't seem to have shaken them one bit.

He doesn't even think before he says, "Okay, then, let's do what the man says. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner there will be a bed in our future." He looks pointedly at Ian and Dallon, not really thinking any further than curling up with them all for the night, though he wouldn't say no to suggestions.

Ian laughs, "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. I want snuggles and TV and room service, and you're all going to give it to me, right?"

Dallon reaches up to ruffle his hair and says, "Right."

"Okay, then."

Okay.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thanks** : It turns out I can't write without sending small snippets to people along the way. Sadiane and Dugrival were subjected to this in tiny pieces, sent completely out of order. They were the MOST encouraging. A very thorough beta was done by BrynnMcK. The fantastic title also came from her, by way of [Kansas](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CiUweukGkxw). All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, if you would like to comment on the [Livejournal post](http://zabira.livejournal.com/146123.html) or the [Dreamwidth one](http://zabira.dreamwidth.org/134962.html), that would be delightful too.


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